Love and Other Accidents

by paperclipz

Done! A modern P and P. Darcy and Bingley are musicians trying to find material for their new album in a rural college town...where they meet the Bennet twins who are surviving college together. Lizzy's a photographer, and Jane's a med student.

13. Meeting the Media

1.

When a woman decides to re-invent her life, she usually starts with her hair. That's how Jane came to donate her long, red hair to Locks of Love in favor of a short bob, one that helped her cheekbones stand out a little sharper and her eyes a brighter blue. She also put away her ragged jeans and loose comfy t-shirts in favor of flaring skirts and low heels. She even started going out again, despite the fact that her first date ended up a disaster, but as Lizzy pointed out, it was only a disaster because the paparazzi finally caught up with her.

"I still say she deserves it," Lydia said bitterly, flipping through channels (the first thing Lydia did when she got control of her trust fund was to pay for cable, complete with HBO). "For trying to date my doctor."

Lizzy looked up from her computer screen, where the forty-second page of her thesis was resisting her best editing efforts. "She can't help that he's the first guy to ask her out when she decided she wanted to."

"Yeah," Lydia said, pausing to watch a few seconds of Jerry Springer ("She's sleeping with my mother!") before moving on, "but she can help that she accepted."

"Well, it does kind of suck that he left her stranded at the restaurant halfway across town, in the midst of a whole bunch of story-hungry reporters," Lizzy pointed out.

Lydia lifted her head up and grinned at Lizzy from over the top of the couch. "I bet Charlie wouldn't have left her to the reporters," she said slyly.

Lizzy was about to mention that Charlie did leave her, when they both heard the apartment door open, then slam, followed by a loud, frustrated scream.

After a stunned second, Lizzy turned and called, "Jane? You all right?"

"No," Jane snapped, storming into the room, short red hair elegantly tousled, cheeks rosy with fury. "You know where they were today?"

Lydia grinned at Lizzy, who shook her head and tried very hard not to smile. These days, "they" meant reporters.

"Couldn't say," Lydia replied politely.

"The stairwell," Jane said exasperated. "And you know, how long it took me to get up the stairs?" And this time she didn't wait for her roommates to respond. "Fifteen minutes. For two flights."

Lydia rolled her eyes and turned back to channel surfing, and Lizzy said, face carefully blank, "Almost makes you wish our apartment had an elevator."

"It's not funny," Jane snapped, putting her bag down at the table.

"Not to you. Not yet," Lizzy replied grinning. "But me and Lydia find it very amusing."

Jane scowled at her darkly and opened the freezer roughly to pull out the last of the Mint Cookie ice cream.

"Lighten up, Jane," Lizzy said, watching her sister open the silverware drawer and slam it shut roughly. "Or I'll call Dad and tell him to dump you in the shower again."

"Lizzy," Jane said, but Lizzy noticed a flicker of a smile in her twin's eyes.

"How was class?" Lizzy asked.

"Fine," Jane said glumly, stabbing her spoon into the pint carton and pulling out a big, green chunk. Then, looking at it with a slow smile: "Professor Morgan told me that I'll make a great doctor someday."

Lizzy mock-applauded with a broad grin. "Congratulations. She's supposed to be really tough, right?"

Jane swallowed her mouthful of ice cream with a wide smile, shrugging. "She's always been nice to me." Jane watched Lydia flip past a couple music videos without much interest. "Lizzy," she said so suddenly that her sister looked up from her thesis, "I think I want to be a real doctor."

"I agree," Lizzy said, looking back to her laptop with a half-grin. "We've played make-believe long enough. You should actually go to medical school or something."

"No, I mean—" Jane stopped and took a deep breath, even putting her spoon down. "I want to be a practitioner, not a research doctor."

"Oh-ho," Lizzy said, looking up from her computer, eyebrows raised high.

"I like kids," Jane explained worriedly, "and I want to help people. If I go into research right away, I'll just be working under someone else, and I might never get my own funding to study asthma—"

"Jane," Lizzy said, with a bemused smile, "you don't need my permission."

"I'm not giving up on finding a cure," Jane wanted her twin to know, "but I want to set up my own practice. Specializing in children's asthma. That way, I'll be able to treat people and learn more as I go."

"Sounds good to me," Lizzy replied, mostly because she knew that was what her sister wanted to hear, and Jane smiled again. "Jane, do what you want. Do what makes you happy."

"I want to help people," Jane replied, and Lizzy smiled and took her sister's hand.

"This is," Lydia said with a wide grin, "a touching moment."

"Yeah," Lizzy replied with a mock-glare, "go find your own."

"Touché," Lydia said. "I just wanted to know if I have to change the channel or not. B.F.D. is doing an interview."

Both Bennet twins turned to the T.V. at the same time. On screen was a talk show host that Lizzy didn't recognize—in a orange suit, black suit, and very blonde hair—sitting on a stage across from Charlie, who was smiling and scratching the back of his neck, looking faintly uncomfortable. Lizzy glanced at her sister, who was leaning against the table, arms crossed and frowning, but she was watching the screen intently.

"Eat your ice cream, Jane," Lizzy suggested. "It'll make you feel better."

Jane groped for the spoon, not moving her gaze from the TV.

When Lizzy looked back, the camera had panned out to include Dar and Fitz. Behind the chairs, a plasma TV flashed up a glamour shot of the hostess herself. Will was glowering at his cousin, who was doing a really good job of pretending not to notice. Seeing Will's grumpiness, Lizzy felt herself smile and had to remind herself sternly that she was mad at him. If she could just figure out how to contact him, she'd sit him down (preferably alone) and make him explain himself.

"Nah, it really wasn't all that bad," Fitz said, slouching in his chair and folding his hands over his stomach with a lazy grin. "I didn't finish it, so I'm really not the best judge. But Will here did. What'd you think, Will?" he asked, turning to his cousin with eyebrows raised politely.

Will wasted another half minute of airtime glaring at Fitz before replying finally in a half growl, "I don't think I remember well enough to say." It surprised Lizzy how much his American accent annoyed her.

"What are they talking about?" Jane muttered, stabbing at her ice cream again, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"So—" The camera moved back to the hostess, smiling and re-crossing her long, tan legs primly. "It's safe to say that Cindy, Cindy won't be hitting theaters soon?"

"A screenplay," Lizzy explained, remembering the day at the Rosings pool, "based on Fitz and his wife."

Next the frame moved to show Will again, eyes dark and scowling. And very attractive, Lizzy noticed. "Not in its current draft, no," he said curtly.

"What do you think, Bing?" asked the hostess, putting her manicured hand on his arm.

"Don't flirt with him, you nosy tramp," Lydia snapped, and Jane grinned at her gratefully.

Charlie shrugged, lifting both hands in the air, palms up so the hostess's arm dropped away. "Never really got around to reading it," he explained, with an apologetic smile.

He looked tired, Lizzy decided. And strained. Like it was hard for him to smile. She hoped Jane noticed.

"There's nothing really wrong with it," Fitz said. "It's just we've kind of seen it before. I mean, there's only so many times you can see this story of rock talent bogged down with sex, drugs, and cash and getting rescued by the faithful chick. Besides, a really good one just came out.—What was it, Will? The one in the South?"

"Ray," Will replied sternly.

"No, that was a good one, too," Fitz said, "but this one was more recent. With that country guy."

"Cash. Johnny Cash," Will replied impatiently. "Walk the Line."

"Oh, I saw that," Lydia said. "Yeah, I liked it. But I dunno—the accents kind of got on my nerves."

"That's it!" Fitz said triumphantly. "That one came the closest I've ever seen to what a musician's life is really like. But you know it still didn't really tackle the song-writing part of it. I've not seen that."

"The film showed Cash writing songs several times," the hostess said, before smiling demurely at Will's harsh stare, "if I remember correctly."

Lizzy glanced at Charlie, who sat right in the middle of the screen, ignored now by the hostess. He had an elbow on his armchair, his chin in his hand, frowning sadly, which wasn't like him. Glancing at Jane's steady stare, Lizzy hoped that he'd wise up soon and come visit or something.

"Yeah, but they make it out like all he had to do was pick out a few chords and write a few words down," Fitz said, folding his hands behind his head. "I know every artist's different, but it's tougher than that. Usually, you have a whole bunch of drafts and you're practicing until your fingers blisters and—"

"I know you're not speaking from experience," Will said with a bemused frown. "Usually you just fiddle about until you find a rhythm you like."

Fitz glanced sidelong at his cousin, one eyebrow raised high, his red crest almost bristling. Then, he grinned. "Yeah, maybe I'm not the best example. But Will here works real hard. Locked himself in his room for a week trying to pull the 'You Told Me' song together. He—"

"That's enough, Fitz," Will snapped, but Fitz's grin just grew wider.

"Aww, Will.—Don't blush. You don't need to be embarrassed. I'm sure all your fans think it's sweet…" he said, reaching over with a long arm to pinch Will's cheek.

Lizzy did not think it was sweet. Okay, maybe a little sweet. But that was more perfectionist than anything else.

Will jerked away from Fitz's hand, flushed and scowling, and probably would've punched him if they hadn't been on camera. Lizzy laughed, blushing; she ducked her head and peeked over the laptop screen, hoping her sister and cousin wouldn't notice.

"And you, Bing?" the hostess asked.

Jane's eyes narrowed again, but Charlie didn't answer, looking down at the lime-green carpet.

The hostess blinked a few times, and Fitz and Will exchanged glances. Lizzy saw Will mutter something, too low for the studio's microphones to pick up, and then Charlie straightened up, glancing around wildly. "Sorry, I'm a little out of it today," Charlie said, flashing a quick apologetic grin. "What was the question?"

The hostess smiled, flashing very, very white teeth.

"Uh-oh," Lydia said. "She has 'bitch' written all over her right now."

"Will doesn't like it either," Lizzy pointed out, as the screen showed a close-up of Will's worried glare.

"Will?" Lydia said, looking at Lizzy sharply.

"Dar," Jane explained absently, watching Charlie.

The hostess was still smiling. "How long did it take you to write 'Accidents'?"

"Um…" said Charlie, scratching the back of his neck. Jane shifted on her feet impatiently, the ice cream spoon in her mouth. "It was a work-in-progress for several months actually. Almost a year."

Lizzy glanced at her sister, watched her take a deep, steadying breath.

"And is it written for anyone we know?" the hostess asked with another predatory smile.

"Somebody I know," Lydia said, glaring at the screen. "So, don't even try—"

Jane patted Lydia on the head with a small smile. "She can't hear you, sweetie, but thanks."

"Maybe the girl in those pictures?" the hostess continued. "The redhead?"

The camera showed another close-up of Charlie this time, gaze frozen, half-smiling uncertainly.

The frame panned out to include his bandmates, both exchanging worried glances again. "Come on, Wendy," Fitz said, good-naturedly. "How are we supposed to keep our aloof air of mystery, if you keep asking us all these questions? You've ruining all our hard work."

The camera returned to the hostess (Wendy apparently), who was smiling as if to point out, It's my job. As if the message wasn't clear enough, the screen swept over the studio audience, mostly women, all rapt with attention.

"We've got a few of those pictures here at the studio," said Wendy the hostess. "Why don't we see if we can't take a look at those?"

A television behind the semi-circle of chairs flashed up that picture of Jane and Charlie in a doorway, the one that Lizzy and Lydia had seen on the front page of The Globe. Jane herself gave a muffled cry; her hands were over her mouth. Charlie flinched as if he'd heard her. Fitz and the hostess turned to look, and Charlie glanced half-heartedly over his shoulder. Will was too busy glaring at the hostess to care. Another photograph popped up on the screen: of Jane and Charlie again, in front of the Netherfield fireplace. Jane is looking into the fire, eyes cast down thoughtfully, and Charlie is watching Jane, a log in his lap.

"I took that one, too," Lizzy grumbled. "Where are they getting these?"

"Jane," Lydia said softly, half-getting up from the sofa, and when Lizzy looked, her sister's eyes were brimming with tears.

"I'm all right," Jane replied quietly, still watching.

"Looks cozy," Wendy commented, scraping her hair away from her face with a triumphant smile.

"Will, you better do something," Lizzy muttered.

When the camera came back to him, Will was watching Charlie with a concerned frown. He opened his mouth to say something, but Wendy was quicker. "And what do you think of these pictures coming up?"

The screen changed to a still at a restaurant that Lizzy recognized, the one across town, where she and Jane had celebrated their last birthday with Charlotte. Jane was in a short, black dress, head bent over a menu, her red hair twisted back and up (this was obviously before her haircut). Across from her was Lydia's doctor, sipping from a wine glass and looking straight into the camera.

"I didn't take that one," Lizzy said, mostly to herself.

"He cleans up nicely," Lydia said dryly. "Dr. Harris, I mean."

Jane still had her hands pressed to her mouth and didn't answer.

The next frame was a close-up again—of Charlie, face pale and unhappy, and the hostess watching him unexpectedly. "Jane can do whatever…" he started but his voice cracked. He tried again. "I don't have any right…" he drifted off, looking at the picture.

"Will—" Lizzy started again.

"So, her name's Jane?" said Wendy with interest, and Lydia spat, "you bitch!" at the screen of the hostess's face beaming at Charlie.

Then, there was Will's voice off camera, saying "I have an announcement to make" in a distinctly British way.

Lizzy's mouth fell open, aa the frame panned out to include the rest of the B.F.D., Fitz with his hands over his face, peeking at his cousin between his fingers, and Will looking straight into the camera.

"My name isn't Will Darlington," he continued in his familiar accent.

The audience gasped off camera, and the frame belatedly swept over them again, showing them at the edge of their seats, open mouths.

"What?" cried Wendy over the audience's murmurs.

"Darlington was my mother's maiden name," Will said clearly in the direction of the camera. Charlie was wide-eyed again, and Fitz took his hands off his face and clasped his hands over his flat belly, smiling at the audience with resignation. "My name is actually Will Darcy."

The studio audience gasped again. Charlie let out a short, nervous laugh. Wendy looked like her Christmas had come early. And Fitz leaned toward his cousin and informed him grinning, "Mags is gonna kill you."

That was all Lizzy saw, because Lydia stood up, blocking the screen, shock blazing in her face. "Will Darcy?" she asked Lizzy, and Jane looked from Lizzy to Lydia to the screen with wide, concerned eyes. "Dar is Will Darcy?"

Lizzy shrugged, smiling back, sure suddenly of exactly two things: one, she was no longer reconsidering being in love with Will Darcy, and two, there was no reason to wait around for Will to visit. There was nothing stopping her from tracking him down herself.

2.

Early in her modeling career, Lizzy learned something crucial about Manhattan: Only five percent of success is earned by talent. You get another thirty-five percent from the people you know and the people who know you. The rest comes from how you handle yourself. So, Lizzy strode into the tower that housed the Keefe-Moore agency at a brisk pace, checking her watch absent-mindedly, and adjusting the strap of her camera bag over her best grey suit.

Stopping at the security desk, Lizzy carefully slung her bag off her shoulder and on top of her briefcase and made sure that the brown envelope she had addressed to Will was tucked safely away, before placing both on the conveyer belt toward the security x-ray. "God, I'm late," she told the guard, hurriedly signing in as Beth Bennette, in case he noticed her name on her ID tag, pinned to her coat and three years out of date. The young guard smiled at Lizzy, but Lizzy was almost sure that his sympathy had less to do with the time and more to do with the dark red lipstick she'd so carefully applied. "Can you tell me where the B.F.D. press conference is?" she asked, as soon as she walked through the metal detector.

"Sixteenth floor," the guard said. "Conference room D. And you're not that late."

"Thanks," Lizzy said with a grateful smile as she collected her briefcase and camera bag before heading off to the elevators. She repressed her triumphant grin until she'd rounded the corner and pressed the up button. It was going to take a while, Lizzy guessed: the nearest elevator was on the thirty-second floor, and the other three elevators were stopped to accommodate a photo shoot. At least, she was pretty sure it was a photo shoot. The lights were set up on the middle elevator—its door wide open—and a camera waited on a tripod. Lizzy didn't see a photographer, only two models, but it seemed like the kind of thing Diana Gardiner could pull off, strong-arming her superintendent into allowing her to rent out three of the building's elevators for most of the day.

It was really lucky that Maggie Fitzwilliam had managed to book a conference room in this building for Will Darcy's belated Yes, I'm British press release. The Keefe-Moore Agency didn't often lend out their rooms, and Lizzy was pretty sure that Will had needed to talk to Aunt Diana and remind her that she'd borrowed a bed of his at Pemberley. It was especially lucky for Lizzy, because this was the building she knew best in New York. If she did get in trouble with security, she could have them place a call to Diana to bail her out.

But Lizzy wasn't planning on having any trouble.

The elevator was definitely slow. Still stuck all the way up on the twenty-seventh floor. Lizzy amused herself by watching the two models in the photo shoot's well-lit elevator. Without their photographer, the models were trying to amuse themselves as best they could in an empty elevator.

It was apparently harder than it looked, because the female model—a very leggy brunette in a light green flaring dress that fell to her ankles—seemed to be practicing ballet, one hand on the railing, one leg raised behind her and raising her skirt with it. The male model—dressed in a suit, leaning against the back wall of the elevator, arms folded—was giving her a look that definitely challenged the male models are gay stereotype. Lizzy glanced around, edged a step toward the camera, and pressed the shutter release. Click. The female model noticed her co-worker's attention and looked back slightly, leg still raised and eyebrow arched. Click. The male model reached out and flicked his co-worker's skirt so it scooted down her leg and exposed a pretty calf, gleaming with a late summer tan. Click.

"What exactly," said a cold accented voice behind her, "do you think you are doing?"

Lizzy turned around slowly, sure that she was a minute away from seeing security again and composing that phone call to Aunt Diana, but she recognized the small, stout man's gleaming head and thick mustache and immediately relaxed.

"Marco!" she said delighted.

(Marco Vignilini was the first photographer to show her how to use a camera. Her exact words were something like, "Very good, very nice shot, darling. Next time, you will need to take the cap off the lens.")

"If it isn't my little Beth!" he cried. "Beth Bennette! What are you doing here, in my city? And you did not call me—you are in such trouble." He reached up and pinched her cheek; he barely reached her shoulder. "There is nothing for it now; you must kiss me. Here. On my cheek."

He was also the only photographer that had successfully managed to boss Beth Bennette around.

"It has been too long," he continued after she complied meekly. "What has it been? Two years?"

"Mmm, almost three," Lizzy said, reshouldering her camera bag and glancing at her elevator (twelfth floor, the display said). "Since that In Style spread, wasn't it?"

"You see?" he said. "Too long. We cannot remember, and so much too long. And are you only going to try to steal my camera, or will you also take me to lunch?" Lizzy glanced at the remaining elevator again more pointedly (still twelfth floor). "Not now, of course. We are busy now. About one?"

"I—" Lizzy started, glancing at her watch. It was a quarter past eleven.

"You cannot say no to me, darling. I will not let you; you are too cute," he explained, taking a shot of the models in the elevator. They snapped to attention, the female model slinging an arm around her co-worker's neck, faux-passionately. "Now run along and go see your aunt. I will meet you here at one."

Lizzy's elevator had reached the fourth floor. "Tell him to lower his hand a bit," Lizzy advised, and when Marco pursed his lips in her direction and his crew (lighting, assistants, and models included) gaped at her, she continued, "It looks awkward cupping her neck like that." Marco nodded slightly, and the male model's hand moved to the small of his co-worker's back. "And I'm not going to see my aunt." When Marco turned to her in surprise, Lizzy added, "I mean I will eventually, but not right now."

"Then, why would you be here? There is nothing here today, except…Oh," he said with a knowing smile. "B.F.D. fan, are you?"

Lizzy smirked. "Kind of. Not quite."

Marco pursed his lips again, raising his eyebrows high. "I see, I see. The redhead, she is your sister? It is all becoming clear." Lizzy opened her mouth to say something else, but Marco raised his hand in the arm and snapped his fingers. "Francine!" A harried-looking assistant with a clipboard and strong perfume ducked forward. "The press pass, please, for this very beautiful young lady. From the band." Watching the assistant dig through a folder, Lizzy was about to protest (it did take all the adventure out of sneaking into Will's press conference), but Marco explained to Lizzy, "They just hand these away like free lotion samples at the hotel. Whether you want them or no." Once the assistant placed a slim plastic-coated paper in his palm, Marco said, "Now, I'm giving this to you with the stipulation that you won't do anything to return yourself to the tabloids."

Lizzy's elevator announced its arrival with a chime. "That was only one time," Lizzy protested, moving toward it. "And those supermodels didn't need to follow me into that fountain—"

Marco waved her off, turning his attention back to the camera. "Don't mention it, darling. I expect details!" he told her, and the elevator doors slid shut on Lizzy's protests.

3.

She was late, and Will was annoyed, drumming his fingers against the conference table to prove it. She was always late, though. She'd been late nearly every day of their lives, so it really shouldn't bother him anymore. But since she'd been so keen to come, since she'd spent most of the evening before arguing that Will let her attend, since she had even gotten Fitz to help her, she might as well show up on time. He tried to force himself to calm down. He reminded himself firmly that he should not be this angry. He was only frustrated, he reasoned, because he'd saved this day in his schedule so that he could go to Vickroot to check on Lizzy and was stuck instead in the city sorting out the mess that he'd gotten his band into.

It would help though, he decided, if he could start.

"Maybe I should call," Will suggested, as Fitz turned around for the eighth time to check on Zarine, who was still sleeping peacefully in her baby carrier, out of (the press's) sight in the back of the room.

"She's probably on her way," Charlie told Will, sighing when Will turned his attention his way. "You'll only slow her down."

"Perhaps, she's gotten into an accidents," Will suggested. "Perhaps, she's not coming. Perhaps—"

(Lizzy made her way through Conference Room D, crowded with plastic chairs and cameras, and quietly took a place against the wall between Rolling Stone Magazine and London Times. They were all there: Will, of course; Charlie, glumly listening to what looked like Will's whispered tirade; Fitz, drumming on the side of the table with two brand-new pencils; even a small, dark-haired woman in a hot pink suit, who—Lizzy guessed from the amused smile Fitz was giving her and the harsh glares she directed at Will—was probably Maggie, the manager.)

"Take a deep breath, Will," Fitz told his cousin over the unoccupied chair between them and grinned when Will shot him a dark glare. "I promise it'll help."

(There was an empty seat between Will and Fitz, probably saved for their Aunt Catty. If Lizzy guessed right, Mrs. de Bourgh wouldn't miss a chance to lord over the band and the press if she could help it.)

"Don't underestimate the gravity of the situation," Will snapped.

"Aww, you're worried; that's cute," Fitz told him, reaching over to ruffle his cousin's hair. "Relax, Will. She's a big girl. She'll be fine."

(Lizzy couldn't take her eyes off Will, who looked flushed and irritated and very, very handsome in his dark suit and light blue shirt, as he tried to fix the damage Fitz did to his hair. She was sure that he'd look up any minute at her unrelenting gaze—But there were a lot of gazes in the room, she reminded herself. She was probably safe among them. His eyes were glittering as he glanced around the room. Lizzy's breath caught in her throat as he looked toward her wall, but—)

Maggie tucked her dark hair behind her ears and leaned to her microphone to announce, "All right, we're going to get started. Now, Will Darcy, alias Darlington, would like—"

The door next to Zarine's carrier banged open, almost directly behind Charlie, who nearly fell off his seat—there were a few titters from the audience, and Will glared out at them, half-blinded by the camera flashes. Giana rushed in, her long, dark hair streaming behind her, eyes wide and flustered.

(Lizzy was surprised to see her—well, more surprised that Will would let her come, but she noticed with approval that Giana was wearing the red silk camisole and fitted black sweater that they'd found at Harold's. And the choker with quartz beads, she realized, as Giana pulled out the chair between her brother and her cousin, muttering apologies.)

"And where the bloody hell have you been?" Will hissed, careful to keep his voice too low for the microphone in front of him to pick up.

"Well, I had class. What would you have me do?" Giana asked scowling. "Skip?"

"Yes!" Will replied, so loudly that the sound system protested with a screech.

(Lizzy smirked, watching Will and Giana wince and Fitz try to hide a grin. If Lizzy had been a little closer, she would've taken a picture of the space between Will's mouth and that small slice of chest the slightly unbuttoned shirt revealed, his Adam's apple exposed, his mouth vulnerable. She probably wouldn't have named it, but she might have kept it in her wallet.)

Giana rolled her eyes and hooked her long, pianist's fingers around the short microphone in front of Will.

(Of course—Lizzy decided, snapping a shot of Will's shocked face, realizing a second too late what his little sister was planning--she'd have to have to actually be dating Will at that point. Otherwise, that photo could demote her to stalker status.)

"Before we do anything else," Giana said, leaning into the microphone, meeting the flash of camera bulbs with a frank stare, " he did it for me. The whole Darlington deception, it was to protect me."

Will resisted the urge to glare out past the glare of the camera bulbs into the audience, as someone in the front row, pad and pencil no doubt readied, asked, "And who are you?"

"Georgiana Darcy. His younger sister," Giana replied curtly, batting Will's hands away as he tried to reach over and take the microphone away from her. "He didn't want you sorry lot following me around." Will winced, as a few chuckles filled the room. "But I imagine you will now. Nice to meet you, I suppose."

(She could just sling her camera over her shoulder, walk straight through the crowd, climb over the table, and kiss Will right now, in front of all these people. That would really make headlines.)

Will thought he heard a couple journalists murmur "Nice to meet you" in response, but he leaned closer to Giana, hissing, "Are you bloody mad?"

"I know what I'm doing," she told him in a whisper, as someone else asked, "Why the change?"

(Maybe not, Lizzy decided, snapping a shot of the Darcy siblings, glaring at each other with identical scowls. Maybe press conference declarations were too Notting Hill for real life. Besides, she didn't really feel like doing anything that had been done before; Fitz would never let her life it down.)

Will reached for the microphone again, but Giana had already leaned forward, shrugging. "There really wasn't any reason, now that I'm in New York," Giana explained.

Will was going to say something else, but Charlie's hand was on his arm. "Leave her alone," Charlie said quietly, close enough so that the microphones didn't pick it up. "Can't you see what she's doing?"

"Yes, she's exposing our private life to the press," Will snapped as Fitz got up to go tend to the fussing baby. Giana's violent entrance must have woken her up. "She's much too naïve."

Giana had paused to give her brother a sly, sidelong glance and continued, "To tell you the whole truth, a photographer caught me and Will having lunch together."

"She's being herself." Charlie shrugged. "She's making sure they all know that you two are really siblings."

"Of course, we're bloody siblings—" Will hissed as Giana announced, "And B.F.D. has quite enough misunderstood romances in the tabloids without adding me to the mix."

(Eyebrows raised, Lizzy glanced to the right just in time to see Charlie wince, but Maggie Fitzwilliam only tapped her pencil against a yellow legal pad, watching Giana thoughtfully.)

"You didn't read the memo?" Charlie asked Will.

"What memo?" Will asked distractedly, watching his sister.

"Also," Giana added with a wide, wry grin that her brother automatically mistrusted, "I'd rather not be mistaken for Will's girlfriend. Ever. That's disgusting," she said with a look of such horror that most of the press laughed.

(Lizzy laughed too, quietly, unwilling to give herself away, but Will only narrowed his eyes at his sister and paid no attention to her audience.)

"You know, I'm going to tell Mags to just stop sending out the damn things," Fitz commented to Will and Charlie, fishing a pacifier out of his jacket pocket and giving it to Zarine. "None of us have time to check our email anymore. Except for Charlie and Giana apparently."

"Why are you in New York?" another reporter asked Giana.

"MTV thinks this is a publicity gag," Charlie explained quietly.

"Well, it bloody well isn't," Will growled.

"I make up three percent of the international portion of NYU's freshman class," Giana announced to the press proudly. "Approximately."

"That's not stopping Giana from trying to single-handedly save your career," Charlie pointed out.

(Lizzy snorted, snapping another picture of Giana's beaming face and wondering how Will was adjusting to having his sister so close by. Not terribly well, Lizzy thought, glancing over Will's panicked scowl.)

"That reminds me," Fitz said to Giana, as he settled back into his seat. "Did you get your graduation present?"

Will sighed, running his hands through his hair, and Charlie sent him a sympathetic smile as Giana leaned toward her cousin and said in a loud whisper, "Yeah, but it doesn't quite fit in my room. I rather doubt big screen televisions were designed for freshman dorms."

"Damn," Fitz grumbled before turning to his wife. "Flat screen, maybe?"

"Not now, Fitz," Mags said with such long-suffering patience that the press laughed again.

(Lizzy laughed with the rest, louder this time, but Will was too busy eyeing Giana's microphone distrustfully to notice her.)

"Where are you from?" asked another reporter, a man somewhere near the back.

(Snapping a picture of Fitz's sheepish grin and Maggie's answering smile, Lizzy had a terrible, nauseating thought: Maybe Will didn't want to see her again.)

"England," Giana said, and Will was almost smiling at her sarcasm until she went on, "Derbyshire. The town's quite small, actually—"

(No, no, she was being ridiculous. Will loved her. She knew he loved her. He wrote a song for her, for fuck's sake.)

Will snatched up the microphone, saying sternly, half to her and half to the press, "You don't need to tell them that."

(But he hadn't come to visit her. Or even called her. It wasn't like he didn't know where she lived. It wasn't as if he couldn't look up her phone number.)

"And why not?" Giana asked her brother. "They'll only get it from the internet if it's not from me."

(What if he wasn't so fond of her after that sob story on her Derbyshire hotel bed? What if she freaked him out? Hell, she freaked herself out. What if he didn't like her anymore?)

Will leaned forward, trying to ignore the reporters in the front row straining to hear him, and hissed, "They wouldn't know to look on the bloody internet if not for you."

(She was obsessing. God, she hated girls who obsessed. Especially over guys.)

"Don't be daft, Will," Giana said hotly, and Will wasn't sure he liked the effect this university was having on his sister. She learned something new already: resistance to authority.

(Besides, if Will stopped loving her just because he saw her cry, then Lizzy didn't want him anyway.)

Fitz snorted, delighted with his little cousin's newly developed attitude.

(Okay—Lizzy decided, trying not to smile and snapping a picture as Will sent Fitz a sharp warning glare—that was a lie.)

Fitz laced his fingers together and twiddled his thumbs as Giana continued, "You know you're being daft, so stop it. If Lizzy were here, she'd—"

(Lizzy flinched, looking sharply from Giana to Will, who had hurriedly grabbed the head of the microphone. It squeaked so loudly that several journalists covered their ears, pens and notepads in either hand. But it did manage to muffle the Darcys' argument.)

"Will, I'm a grown person; I can do whatever I bloody well—" Giana complained.

Will hushed her, but someone already was already asking, "Who's Lizzy?"

(She really didn't have time for this, Lizzy noticed as she checked her watch.)

Will uncovered the microphone, opening his mouth to answer, but Maggie was already handling it. "Nice try," she said smiling. "Next question."

(She was supposed to meet Marco in seventeen minutes.)

A young man—Will couldn't see him through the glare of the camera flashes, but the accent was from London—was next. "Where were they born?"

Giana snatched the microphone from Will again, so quickly that the hand that was holding it got caught in her grip as she jerked it toward her. Will yanked it to safety and shook it out.

(She could, Lizzy supposed, stealing a picture of Will's sharp, scowling face, rigid with disapproval and worry, blow Marco off. After all, she'd never actually agreed to have lunch with him.)

Baby Zarine had spat out her pacifier and had begun making suspiciously unhappy noises in her carrier. Will noticed Maggie and Fitz exchanging worried glances.

"At home," Giana said decisively.

(But Marco really was a good friend; he'd helped her to get started. Lizzy snapped a shot as both Fitz and Will turned to Giana, each with a bewildered eyebrow raised. Besides, Marco wasn't a person to piss off. She'd seen him dump a model in a pool during an underwear shoot in November, just because the poor girl had mentioned his hair loss.)

"Or were we?" Giana wondered, turning to her brother.

Zarine let out a short wail.

"Uh-oh," Fitz muttered to Maggie. "She's testing out the acoustics."

"Will, did Mum have us at home or in the hospital?" Giana asked.

(But when was Lizzy going to get the chance to see Will again?)

"Your turn," Maggie told her husband, and Fitz made a face.

"At the bloody hospital," Will said. "It's not the nineteenth century."

(All right, if Will noticed her, Lizzy promised herself, then she would stay.)

Giana leaned away from the table, scowling like she had when Aunty Cindy had taken her X-box away for a week so she'd get out of the house. "Well, you don't have to get all huffy."

(Of course, he was a little dense. It'd been almost half an hour, and he hadn't noticed her yet. None of them had, and the only one she hadn't met was Maggie.)

Zarine gave a little hiccup of a sob, and by the time, Will glanced behind him, her little face was red, her mouth open and screaming. Fitz pushed himself back from the conference table, camera bulbs flashing as he delivered an apologetic grin. With a heavy sigh, Maggie explained, "The Darcys were born in England."

(Lizzy reconsidered: if any of them noticed her in the next…say, four minutes, she would stay and contact Marco with her apologies later.)

Fitz knelt next to the baby carrier and murmured over his infant's screams as he reached down and picked her up, "Hey, Babe. You trying to say something?"

"But," continued Maggie, after glancing backwards to make sure her child and husband were all right, "since their mother was American, they have dual citizenship."

(Lizzy was annoyed to notice that she was struggling to keep her temper. After all, she had no right to get mad just because no one had looked her way yet.)

"Do we?" Giana asked, eyebrows raised, turning to Will. He nodded with a brief smile. "Well, scratch that earlier comment. Let's just say then that I make up most of NYU's demi-international student population," she said sheepishly, and the audience chuckled obliging.

(After all, the world didn't revolve around her.)

"Shit," Fitz said as he patted the baby's bottom. "Hey, Mags? I think we have a situation here." Without looking up, Maggie pulled the diaper bag off the back of her chair and tossed it at Fitz's feet.

(Not even Will's world.)

"All right, then. Mr. Bingley," he told Charlie, as he scooped up the bag, slung it over his shoulder, and opened the side door, with Zarine nestled in the crook of his arm and crying, "make sure my cousins behave themselves."

(One minute left. Lizzy stared hard in Will's direction, wondering if she was going to have to take her delivery all the way back to Vickroot with her.)

Charlie nodded, half-smiling.

"You make sure to use the baby powder," Maggie called to him, and Fitz rolled his eyes and went out the door.

(Lizzy decided that she was being ridiculous. So she tucked her camera back into her bag with a scowl, before ducking through the nearest exit.)

Amidst the glare of the camera bulbs and through the crowd of photographers, Will noticed the door close at the opposite end of the room and was only a little bitter that he couldn't follow whoever had managed to escape.

"What's the age difference?" asked somebody else.

Will leaned toward the microphone before his sister could respond. "Six years, but she acts younger, doesn't she?"

As a couple journalists laughed, Giana snatched the microphone up and said slyly, "I act younger? I'm not the one who is certain to have cable on Saturday mornings so he watch Batman Beyond reruns, and I'm not the one who—"

Will reached again and grabbed the head of the microphone, blushing as the room laughed, even Maggie, even Charlie, the bloody traitor. Glancing at the back of the room, Will then caught the outline of a middle-aged newcomer, wearing a dark suit that might have been St. John'sand a shawl that might have been fox fur, and realized that this was going to be a very long press conference.

4.

Lizzy wasn't sure what to do with Will's photographs, but she had ten minutes to figure it out (and another three to ride the elevator down to her lunch date with Marco). She could just hang onto them, possibly take them back to Vickroot, but she'd really carried them too far to carry them back. She could also drop them off with Aunt Diana, who'd probably manage to get them to Will somehow, but that was no fun. So—because the security guard who was supposed to be watching the door marked PERSONNEL ONLY had gone to watch the press conference (thus leaving the entrance to the non-public side of the floor open for her personal use), Lizzy's preferred option was to sneak behind the scenes and see if she could leave them in Will's backpack or briefcase or something.

The only problem was that Lizzy had forgotten how extensive the private side of the sixteenth floor was: there were two studios for photo shoots, eight dressing rooms, a kitchen, a closet (for clothes), another closet (for brooms), two living rooms, a TV room, a computer room, a pool room, and two other similar hallways. Two and a half minutes later, after Lizzy still hadn't managed to find any of the B.F.D.'s personal belongings, she heard a door close twenty feet away.

"Okay, so you know and I know that you're not supposed to be here," drawled an angry voice behind her. "But if you leave your name and number, I'll be sure to get you fired so next time you'll leave this area to the band like you are supposed to."

"Damn it, Fitz," Lizzy said, turning around, her hands on her hips and a bemused grin on her face. "I was managing to be so sneaky until you came along."

"Lizzy!" cried Fitz with a wide grin and hugged her with one arm. "Didn't recognize you, all dressed up and ready for business.—Careful of the baby," he added as the infant gurgled in his other arm.

"Hey, baby Zarine," said Lizzy, bending down and smiling at the girl Fitz was cradling. She was big for a six-month-old, and her eyes were bright and brown. She didn't have much hair yet, but what she did have came up to a point at the top of her head in a baby-sized brunette version of her father's red crest. When Lizzy offered the baby a finger, Zarine gripped with her soft, small, pink hands and smiled a three-toothed smile. "You're pretty cute, Zarine," Lizzy decided and glanced up at Fitz. "You must've spent your whole life practicing."

"Oh, yeah, she was real cute a minute ago," Fitz said, kissing the top of Zarine's head with a proud smirk. "Me going through all the trouble of changing her diaper, and then she goes and spits up lunch."

Lizzy grinned and took her finger back from Zarine to keep the strap of her camera bag from slipping off her shoulder. "I'm sorry I missed it, then."

"Why? You got a thing for baby puke?" Fitz asked, pulling Zarine up to rest on his hip. Presented with his shoulder, Zarine started plucking at the top button of his shirt and looking up at her father open-mouthed to gauge his reaction.

"No, but it would've made a great picture."

"That's weird, kiddo," Fitz told Lizzy, grinning. Zarine reached up at his nose, and he caught her hand in his mouth, shaking it gently and making both the baby and Lizzy laugh. "So," Fitz said with another grin, this one smug, "you're here to see Will."

"I already saw him," Lizzy said matter-of-factly, pressing her lips together hard to keep herself from smiling.

Fitz looked at her sharply, halfway between wincing and frowning. "You did?"

Noticing that she'd lost her father's attention, Zarine hollered and banged her hands on his shoulder to earn it back. Fitz held his breath and blew his cheeks out like a blowfish to appease her, so Lizzy snapped a picture, laughing.

"Ooo!" Fitz cried, both he and the baby looking at the camera with delight. "Send me a print? For her baby book?"

Zarine reached toward Lizzy's camera, mouth open.

"Sure," Lizzy said, turning the camera off, putting the lens on, and holding it up so Zarine could explore it with her fingers. "Just give me a place to send it. I could even scan it and email it to you if that's—Hey!" Lizzy cried, looking up, a smile slowly curling around her mouth.

"Uh…Hi?" Fitz replied.

"Will you do me a favor?" Lizzy said, tucking her camera away (Zarine looked back to her father, her fingers in her mouth) and opening her briefcase.

Fitz considered, as Lizzy pulled out a big, brown envelope, heavy with thick, inflexible paper. "Okay," Fitz said with a heavy sigh. "But nothing sexual. Maggie would kill me. Will, too."

Straightening, Lizzy rolled her eyes and held out the envelope. Zarine reached for it, her mouth open and smiling. "This is for Will," Lizzy told the baby with a gentle smile.

"But you didn't give it to him?" Fitz asked looking it over with one raised, suspicious eyebrow.

Lizzy shook her head, crossing her eyes and sticking her tongue out for baby Zarine's benefit.

"Here," said Fitz, pushing the baby into Lizzy's arms. "Switch."

"What? You can't—" Lizzy sputtered, staring at the baby's wide eyes looking around wildly for something to hold onto. She quickly found a good tight grip on Lizzy's shirt. "I don't know what I'm doing," Lizzy told Fitz.

"You're giving my arms a rest. She can hold her own head up these days, so just brace her butt. That's easiest," Fitz told Lizzy, examining the folder. After Lizzy followed his advice and Zarine tangled her hands in Lizzy's necklace, he asked, "What is this, kiddo? The reply letter? I don't want to set myself up for a lifetime of Will-Lizzy-Will courier service."

"Well, if you don't like it, I'll just send it on to Pemberley," Lizzy said grumpily, trying to grab at it and balance the baby at the same time.

Fitz raised it out of her reach with a lazy grin. "Nah, I don't mind. Just know I'm going to be reading over his shoulder when he opens it."

Lizzy shrugged, watching the baby try to poke her chin with the necklace. "That's fine," she murmured, smiling at Zarine.

Fitz grimaced. "Is it revenge?"

"No…" Lizzy said slowly. Zarine pushed the necklace into Lizzy's mouth, and Lizzy laughed, wrinkling her nose. "Why?" she asked, looking up at Fitz shrewdly. "Did something happen that needs avenging?"

"Well, your sister," Fitz said with a rueful grin.

"Oh, Jane," Lizzy said, turning back to Zarine, who'd started giggling. "I think Jane and Charlie are out of our hands by now."

Fitz let out a low whistle. "So, you haven't visited the tabloid section of your local grocery store in a while?"

"Oh, right—my photographs," Lizzy realized, narrowing her eyes at a suddenly wary Fitz. "How'd the press get a hold of those? Is there someone I need to go sue? Did Will have something to do with it? Did you—"

"Fitz!" Maggie Fitzwilliam's head appeared in a doorway down the hall, looking the wrong way. "Is Zarine okay? Why didn't you—" She looked the other direction and noticed her family with Lizzy. The smile dropped off her face, and she crossed the distance between them in fierce, quick strides to lift Zarine out of Lizzy's grasp. "Fitz," she said, looking from her husband to Lizzy with a cold glare, "what did I tell you about groupies and the baby?"

"Seriously," Lizzy snapped, crossing her arms, "what is it with your family and thinking I'm a groupie?"

"Nonsense, kiddo," Fitz said, tickling the baby's stomach gently. "I bet the thought never crossed Zarine's mind."

"Only because she's too young to know what a groupie is," Lizzy said grumpily.

"Fitz," Maggie warned.

Both Fitz and Lizzy turned to meet the manager's sharp-eyed glare. "Mags, guess who this is?" he asked, putting a hand on Lizzy's head.

"The mother of your third child," Maggie said grimly.

Lizzy grimaced. "Eww. No."

"I told you, Mags," Fitz said, slinging an arm around his wife's shoulders as the baby pulled at her mother's hoop earring, until it came off in her hand. Clip-ons, Lizzy realized, impressed. "Zarine's my first."

"As far as you know," Maggie told him, plucking the earring out of Zarine's hands before it was mistaken for a teething ring. "God, you never know when someone's going to up and sue for child support."

"Sorry, Lizzy," Fitz said, making a face. "She's been like this ever since Will came clean on that Wendy show. Everything's a law suit waiting to happen."

Maggie scowled up at her husband. "You'd be like this too, if—oh," she said, turning back to Lizzy, mouth open (Lizzy guessed with a grin she was where Zarine got it from). "You're Lizzy. Wow. Okay."

Lizzy nodded. "Nice to meet you. Again."

"Aww," Fitz said, bending down to kiss the corner of his wife's mouth, "you're cute when you're all possessive."

Maggie smiled back absently. "You came to see Will?"

"Already did," Lizzy said firmly.

Fitz snorted and started fanning himself with the brown envelope.

"Did you?" Maggie said, frowning slightly. "But he's been in such a bad mood."

"What do you mean?" Lizzy asked.

"Well, he was beaming for weeks after he came back from England, even with all the mess about your—oh." Maggie stopped abruptly and looked at Lizzy again. "How's your cousin?"

"My cousin," Lizzy repeated in a flat voice, wondering what Will had been telling people.

"Yeah, the pregnant one," Fitz reminded her.

Maggie smacked his shoulder. To Lizzy, she explained, "Charlie found out, told Fitz; Fitz told me."

"But not Giana, right?" Lizzy said, just to reassure herself.

"Of course not," Fitz snorted. "Will would eat us."

Lizzy looked from Fitz to his wife to baby Zarine. "No longer pregnant," she said softly.

"Oh," Maggie replied, eyes on the floor.

"Miscarriage," Lizzy explained, so they wouldn't misunderstand.

"Oh," said Maggie, looking up at Lizzy.

"Shit," said Fitz apologetically.

"Not in front of the baby," Maggie scolded. "I don't want her first word to be something Mrs. de Bourgh would faint at."

"Her first word's not going to be a cuss word, for God's sake," Fitz grumbled.

"You don't know that," Maggie said. "You still haven't read that baby book I gave you."

"I didn't know that children came with instruction manuals," Fitz protested.

Lizzy pulled out her camera, grinning, so that she could frame a shot of the child on her mother's hip and the father looming above them, both parents scowling and the baby staring at the camera with frank, curious eyes. Click. "You want this one for your scrapbook, too?" she asked.

"Only if you do one of us smiling, too," Fitz said decisively. "Before and After."

"Before and after what?" Maggie asked suspiciously.

"Making up," Fitz replied and kissed her.

Lizzy snapped another shot, of Maggie laughing against Fitz's mouth and Zarine looking up at them with wide eyes.

"Disgusting," chimed a voice behind them, and they broke apart to see Giana sauntering down the hall. "You two should get a room. There are quite enough of them, as I'm sure—" She stopped, gasping.

"Lizzy!" Giana cried and rushed the rest of the way to grab Lizzy in a hug. "I've missed you. How are you? You left Pemberley so suddenly, I was worried. Even Aunty Cindy was rather concerned, and you don't know how much it takes for her to become concerned. Oh, and now you're laughing at me." Lizzy was laughing, and even Fitz and Maggie were exchanging grins. "Well, I suppose I am talking too much, but I did miss you, Lizzy. Now I don't mind so much that Will sent me after Maggie and Fitz.—I think he wants to gather the troops before Aunt Catty finishes up with the press," she explained to her cousins.

Fitz grimaced, and Maggie laughed and kissed his cheek.

"You come with us," Giana said, taking Lizzy's hand. "He'll be so glad to see you. You are here to see Will, aren't you?"

"I've already seen him," Lizzy replied with a slow smile.

"You have? But only in the conference room, right?" Giana guessed. "And he hasn't seen you?"

"Aha!" said Fitz triumphantly when Lizzy nodded. "I knew it."

"But that's terrible. He'll be so upset to find that we've seen you when he hasn't," Giana protested. "You can't leave us to that. That's rather cruel."

"I can't help it. I have to meet someone in—" Lizzy checked her watch, looked up wide-eyed, and then checked it again. "Shit. In two minutes. Crap.—Oh, sorry, Zarine," she added, when she noticed Maggie's scowl.

Giana looked so disappointed that Lizzy dug an old receipt from the pocket of her camera bag and scribbled on it. "Here," she told Giana, handing over the paper. "This is my home number. Call me, and I'll come back to the city so we can have lunch."

Giana brightened. "Friday, then? I don't have classes Friday."

"Sure, just call me," Lizzy said, kissing Giana's forehead and scooping up her briefcase.

"One minute left," Fitz said in a sing-song.

Lizzy shot him a glare before running down the hall, and Maggie snapped, "Fitz, don't be an asshole.—Oh, shit. Sorry, Zarine."

"You did it again," Fitz pointed out behind Lizzy, and before his wife could reply, Lizzy was through the PERSONNEL ONLY door and headed for the elevator.

5.

Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy, alias Darlington (stage name Dar), had nothing personal against optimism. Unless, of course, it differed from his personal opinion.

"Well," Charlie said, scratching the back of his neck absent-mindedly with a resigned sigh, "I think it wasn't half bad."

Will slammed open the door to the nearest lounge and strode toward his guitar case, snapping the latches open. "Wasn't half bad?" he repeated. "Were you there?"

"Of course, I was there," Charlie replied, watching Will pull out his acoustic guitar. "I was sitting right next to you. I just think Giana did really well. You should be proud of her."

Will threw himself in the nearest sofa, brown leather and overstuffed. "All right, it wasn't half bad, I grant you," he said, beginning to tune his guitar. "But in the second half, after Aunt Catherine arrived, it was all bad."

"Yeah," Charlie agreed, half-smiling, "it was pretty much a mistake for her to start spouting about the glory of the Darcy name."

"It isn't funny, Charlie," Will snapped.

"No, of course not," Charlie replied with a glimmer of his old carefree grin. "But when the girl from Y.M. asked her about animal rights and that ugly fur thing, and our manager managed to bring up your great-great-grand-dad Eddie Darcy, greatest fox hunter in Derbyshire, I have to admit I was thinking French farce."

Will sighed and strummed a chord absently. "I was thinking what a load of crap Giana's going to get when she returns to school."

"She is a big girl," Charlie pointed out, and Will made a face. "I know you don't want to hear that, but—"

"Next time you have a younger sister," Will replied curtly, "you can try to tell me how I should feel."

Charlie sighed and opened up the mini-bar to find himself a soda. "Don't be an asshole. You're not the only one who cares about Giana."

Instead of answering, Will put his guitar through the opening chords of "Fire and Ice."

"God, Will," Charlie snapped, "it's not the apocalypse."

"Aunt Catherine's not here yet," Will said darkly.

They heard Giana shout "Fitz!" right outside the door, and a second later, the drummer himself appeared grinning, a large brown envelope raised high above his head, his red crest taller than ever. Giana followed, jumping for the envelope, and Fitz raised it a little higher smugly. "You great bastard," Giana grumbled, "I want to give it to him."

"The job, my dear cousin, was entrusted to me," Fitz reminded her, bowing his head gravely, but still keeping the envelope high out of her reach.

Giana scowled, and then Maggie entered the room, toting Zarine in her carrier and told her husband shortly, "Stop teasing her."

Fitz sighed heavily and tossed the envelope on the coffee table in front of Will. "Mr. Darcy," he announced, "has a delivery."

Maggie was smiling as she put the baby carrier on the neighboring armchair and pulled Zarine out, and Giana beamed as she took a front row seat at the coffee table. Charlie looked questioningly at Fitz, who only raised one red brow with a smirk. Will leaned over the guitar in his lap, ripping open the shortest side with his pick. When he lifted the envelope, a thick stack of prints slid into his hand.

"Oh, bloody fucking hell," Will muttered pale-faced, as he examined the first photograph and recognized the deteriorating balcony of the half-finished master bedroom. "Someone's gotten into Pemberley." Giana's mouth fell open for a half-second, before she burst into giggles. "Giana, this is quite serious," Will told her sternly, turning to the next photograph, depicting Giana smiling through the open window of a train car. "They even followed us to London. Do you know who delivered this?" Will asked Fitz sharply. "Does he want money?"

"Will, I say this because I love you," Fitz said with a tolerant smile. "You're fucking paranoid. You need help. The kind that comes with couches and a nice lady with a clipboard who—"

"No, he doesn't," Charlie interrupted, and Maggie added, "Besides I don't have time to find him a suitable therapist right now."

"Will, did you check to see if there was a note?" Fitz asked patiently.

Will flipped through the photographs and shook his head, scowling at a print of his own half-smiling face. "No."

Giana grabbed the envelope and peeked inside. "Here it is," she cried triumphantly, pulling out a light blue Post-It note. "It was stuck on the side."

"Bingo," Fitz said triumphantly.

Taking it from his sister's out-stretched hand, Will skimmed it quickly, and his mouth fell promptly open. Fitz grinned, Maggie gave Zarine a bottle smiling, Giana giggled again, and Will read it again.

"Will, what does it say?" Charlie asked. "Who's it from?"

Will let out a surprised noise, smiled briefly, and read it a third time.

"Well, Mr. Darcy, what does it say?" Fitz said, winking at his wife. When Will's only response was to allow a wide, bright smile to grow on his face, Fitz got impatient and snatched it out of his cousin's hand.

"Fitz!" Will snapped but didn't stop his cousin when Fitz read out in a clear ceremonious voice, "This is twice now I've come to you. It's your turn. Lizzy."

"Lizzy?" Charlie repeated startled. "Lizzy Bennet? She was here?"

"You might need glasses, Will," Giana said, thumbing through the photographs. "She's signed all these. And dated them as well. I don't know how you missed it."

"Paranoid," Fitz said smugly, "like I said. It's still not much of a note though, Will. I don't know why you're grinning so much."

Will tried to ease the smile off his face, but it grew back just as soon as he'd conquered it. "But she was here? Lizzy came to see me?"

"I tried to get her to come, but she had to go meet someone," Giana explained apologetically. "You might catch her," she added hopefully.

"I don't know; she was in a pretty big hurry," Fitz pointed out. "She's the type that makes tracks when she needs to."

"How was she?" Will asked.

"Huh," mused Maggie, smiling. "We thought you'd be upset."

"Lizzy was here," Charlie said again, trying to make sure. "But how'd she get back here?"

"Her aunt heads the Keefe-Moore Agency," Maggie explained to Charlie.

"Their aunt is Diana Gardiner?" Charlie said, gaping.

"But how was Lizzy?" Will said impatiently. "How did she look?"

"Cute as a designer button," Fitz said decisively.

"Mmm, she looked a little tired," Maggie said, putting Zarine back in her carrier. When she noticed the rest of the room looking toward her, she raised her eyebrows. "What? She was pretty--don't get me wrong; she just looked like she hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in a while."

Will looked from Maggie to Fitz, who shrugged. "She looked fine to me."

"Yeah, but you're not exactly the most perceptive guy on the planet, honey," Maggie reminded him.

"I resent that," Fitz said stoutly.

"Fitz, Will noticed that I had morning sickness before you did," Maggie said, "and you live with me."

"Hey, I maintain that the tour bus could've been making you carsick," Fitz said, flipping the blue Post-It over and over in his hand. "Hey, man," he told Will grinning again. "There's something written on the back."

"What?" Will said, watching the grin fall off Fitz's face as he skimmed it. He handed it back wordlessly, so Will could read Lizzy's slanting, looping handwriting: "I hope you didn't actually pay Wickham anything."

"What is it?" Giana asked, craning her neck to look.

Will opened his mouth to answer but couldn't think of anything to say.

"A postscript," Fitz said simply.

"Lizzy—" said Charlie, so hesitantly that the room turned toward him. "She came alone?"

Will looked from Charlie to Fitz, frowning slightly, and Fitz was sending Maggie a panicked look. So, it was Giana, arms crossed, who said, "For God's sake, Charlie. You left Jane, remember?"

"Giana," Will hissed, glancing at Charlie's stricken face.

"You lot keep babying him," she snapped back, "but he's an adult, isn't he? I can't see how you're the victim of this situation. He's responsible for his own actions."

"This is the stage where Giana starts applying her women's studies courses to real life, huh?" Fitz muttered to his wife, who gave him a warning look.

"If I were Jane, I wouldn't make the first move either," Giana said stubbornly.

"It's a bit more complicated than that, Giana," Will said, gently stacking Lizzy's photographs together and turned to watch Charlie lean against the wall, white-faced and staring at the carpet.

"Yeah, Charlie has been having a hard time," Maggie pointed out, as Will picked up his guitar and lazily plucked out the beginning of "End Where I've Begun" watching Charlie intently, "what with those photographs and all the shit he gets for them."

"I don't need your pity, Maggie," Charlie said in a low voice, flicking his gaze toward her.

Giana stiffened, looking from Charlie's scowl to Will uncertainly, but Maggie only put her hands on her hips. "Don't be a punk, Charlie. I'm just pissed that somebody managed to leak year-old photos to the tabloids. And from Vickroot no less; I didn't hand over those photos from me and Fitz for nothing."

Fitz looked over at Will, but Will's attention was fixed on Charlie, whose gaze had returned to the floor. "Okay, Mr. Darcy—I hate to end the game," Fitz said, "but if we keep this up any longer, I'll be sleeping on the couch until Zarine goes to college."

Charlie looked up again, and Maggie turned slowly toward her husband, lips pursed and waiting.

"Fine," Will said, hands on the top of his guitar and sending his sister a brief, reassuring smile.

"Well?" Maggie asked her husband.

Fitz gulped, his red crest deflating. "Now Mags, remember: I'm the father of your child. Think about how fucked-up Zarine'll turn out if you kill me."

"It was us," Will explained.

"What was you?" Giana said.

"We took the photos from Charlie's computer and sent them out anonymously," Will continued, looking at Charlie.

"What?" Maggie snapped.

Giana's mouth was open. "But—"

"We wanted to get Charlie to do something," Fitz protested. "He was just moping around, and we though if he had to see her and think about her all the time—"

"And you couldn't just talk to him?" Maggie snapped.

"You bastard," Charlie told Will, crossing the room in stiff-legging strides. "I swear to God, Will—" he stopped, just next to the coffee table, shaking with fury.

"If you're going to hit me," Will told his best friend in his calmest voice, "I'd like to put my guitar down first."

Charlie didn't move, fists at his sides, and as Will lowered his guitar gently to the floor beside the couch, Giana squeaked and clapped both hands over her mouth.

Then, another figure entered the room, standing in the doorway, a fur wrap around her shoulders, her hair pulled slickly back. "Well, Mr. Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy, I am thoroughly disappointed in you," said Mrs. de Bourgh. "I hope you're happy, dragging me from my delightful home at Rosings—"

The only person in the room who'd moved was Giana, who had made a half-hearted attempt to stand between Charlie and her brother. "Aunt Catherine, if you wouldn't mind stepping outside for a moment," Will said softly. "We have a bit of a situation at the moment."

"Nonsense. I am your manager. I must manage your situations," trilled Mrs. de Bourgh, sweeping into the room. After a moment, after Will continued to quietly endure Charlie's glare, Mrs. de Bourgh added, "And what is the situation?"

"Me," Charlie growled finally. "But don't let me bother you," he said, turning and heading for the door. "No one needs to manage me anymore."

"Well," Mrs. de Bourgh sniffed when he was gone, "Charles is rude today."

Will released a long, low breath, glancing at Fitz, who grimaced. Giana's hands were in her lap; her eyes were wide. "Are you all right?" her brother asked.

"I didn't know Charlie ever got quite that angry," she said.

"What is going on here?" Mrs. de Bourgh boomed, and when Zarine started to cry, Fitz cursed and picked her up to calm her.

"It doesn't happen often," Will agreed. When Giana barely looked up, he said, "Come here." She came, eyes still downcast, and Will hugged her gently.

"I demand to know what's going on," Mrs. de Bourgh repeated, raising her nose dangerously in the air.

"Did I make it worse?" Giana whispered.

Will shook his head. "I did."

"Charlie's just really and rightfully pissed," Maggie explained with an angry sigh.

"It's a club," Fitz said, rocking the baby gently, grimacing as she screamed. "Zarine seems to be its youngest member."

"Not cute, Fitz," Maggie snapped, and he sulked.

"You all right?" Will asked again.

"Yeah," Giana chirped, flashing a smile to prove it.

"I trust Charles will recover then," Mrs. de Bourgh announced, sitting primly in the armchair opposite Zarine as if it were a throne. "If we could then, discuss a few things."

Giana stood up abruptly. "That's my cue," she said, taking a slightly panicked step toward her bag. "I have class."

"Absolutely not. Sit down, young lady," Mrs. de Bourgh ordered, and Giana docilely took a seat again next to her brother, who picked up his guitar. "We have business to discuss."

Will began absentmindedly plucking out a tune, ignoring the withering gaze his aunt directed toward him.

"First, I can't say what possessed you to organize a press conference without me," declared Mrs. de Bourgh with an all-suffering air. Now Will was humming along, watching his sister for a response. "However, my contacts are very good; my transportation is adequate, and—"

Giana turned to Will, smiling incredulously, and Will grinned back through the next few notes. The song was "Cruella de Ville."

"I was able to salvage the rest of the meeting," Mrs. de Bourgh told them, eyeing the young Darcys with disapproval. "So, we may proceed. Mr. Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy, cease that infernal plucking this instant."

Will stopped, smiling politely, his hand stilling the strings. "Yes, ma'am," he said, winking at Giana and standing.

"William, your actions these past two days have been intolerable. The consequences of those actions," she continued, as Will strode to his guitar case, "have had terrible repercussions for everyone in this room. You should be ashamed of yourself. Your mother would be ashamed of you. Your father…" She turned to watch Will close his guitar case. "Are you listening to me, William?"

"Yes, ma'am," Will said quietly, latching it shut. "Mother is ashamed of me, I understand."

Fitz snorted at the back of the room. Maggie carefully lifted Zarine out of his arms before smacking him on the shoulder.

"And you, Miss Georgiana," began Mrs. de Bourgh, and Will looked up scowling, noticing Giana's wide eyes, her hands tucked politely in her lap, "that was the most vulgar display of—"

"Don't speak to my sister that way," Will said sharply, and Giana turned, eyes widening even more. Fitz whistled under his breath, and when Maggie smacked him again, he put his arm around her.

Mrs. de Bourgh's eyebrows lifted primly. "I was only pointing out—"

"Giana was quite charming," Will told his aunt, and when Giana beamed, he added, "Rather too charming. You'll have them following you now."

"Damn," Giana said, hunching her shoulders and pouting.

"Language, Miss Georgiana!" trilled Mrs. de Bourgh.

Giana winced. "Sorry, Zarine," she said, but Maggie just shook her head, hiding a smile.

"Next, I would like to ask you, William," Mrs. de Bourgh said, lifting a thin, white envelope, "what this is."

"A standard envelope," Will said, adding "ma'am" as an afterthought, when Mrs. de Bourgh raised her eyebrows high.

"Yes, one addressed to me," Mrs. de Bourgh announced.

"Good to know that you're not opening our mail anymore," Fitz said.

"Fitz," Maggie hissed, and Giana giggled, a little nervously.

"Well, it is a federal offense," Fitz pointed out.

"Do you know what it contains?" Mrs. de Bourgh asked Will.

"No, ma'am," he replied, moving to the side-table where he'd kept his computer bag.

"One of your personal checks," Mrs. de Bourgh announced, raising her eyebrows even higher, "made out to me. For a respectable sum."

Will snorted softly, as he picked up Lizzy's photographs and tucked them tenderly into the front pocket of his computer bag. "Glad you find it respectable then."

"Do you have an explanation for this?" Mrs. de Bourgh asked with a disdainful frown. "Or shall I assume that I've become the object of your charity?"

"It's a payment towards my tuition at St. Marks School and Boston University," Will explained, zipping his computer case shut and slinging it over his shoulder, "plus fifty percent interest."

Fitz started to say something, and Maggie reached over and clamped a hand over his mouth.

"That was an investment in your future, William; there's no need for this," Mrs. de Bourgh said with an attempt at a smile.

"That's a kind sentiment, Aunt Catherine," Will said, walking back to pick up his guitar case, "but I accepted your generosity as a loan. I apologize if you misunderstood."

"I cannot accept this, William," Mrs. de Bourgh told him firmly.

Will looked up coolly, his computer bag over his shoulder, his guitar case in his hand. "The check is in your hands. Whether or not you deposit it is your choice," he said, and now he was smirking, "but I imagine that you might put it to good use at Rosings."

"I won't endure insolence from you," Mrs. de Bourgh said, rising from her seat.

"Yes, ma'am," Will said, still smirking as he turned to his sister. "Do you have class, Giana?" She nodded, her eyes wide still but half-smiling. "Come on, then. I'll take you back."

"You can't leave now, William," Mrs. de Bourgh told him. "I forbid it."

Giana looked from her aunt to her brother, slowly standing from the sofa. "Go ahead," Will said, and Giana hurried to gather her books. "I needed to find Charlie," Will explained to Maggie, who nodded.

"Mr. Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy, what is the matter with you?" Mrs. de Bourgh trilled with a fierce scowl.

Her shrill voice got Zarine's started again, and Maggie stood up, sighing at the screaming baby. "That's my cue," she said and carried Zarine and the diaper bag into the next room.

"Lizzy," replied Fitz with a lazy grin, handing Giana her purse. "Just a guess," he added as Will smiled slowly back and their aunt stared them both down.

"Ready?" Will asked Giana, who nodded, purse and backpack in hand.

"Who is this Lizzy person?" Mrs. de Bourgh snapped, as the Darcy siblings headed toward the door.

"Same one you met at Rosings," Fitz told his aunt wickedly. "You know, Charlotte's friend."

"The groupie?" Mrs. de Bourgh cried aghast.

Giana gasped. "Lizzy was a groupie?"

"Ooo, don't tell Lizzy you said that," Fitz advised his young cousin. "Ever"

"Lizzy was never a groupie," Will told Giana firmly from the doorway.

"What does Eliza Bennet have to do with anything?" Mrs. de Bourgh said impatiently.

"Will's going to marry her," Fitz said matter-of-factly.

"What?" cried Giana, already halfway outside. "You are?"

Will only smiled widely and told Fitz, "I'll call when I find Charlie," before closing the door gently on Mrs. de Bourgh's horrified face.

5.

Lizzy knew she was being stupid. She'd known how stupid it'd be even on the train ride back to Vickroot, when it had occurred to her that Giana might leak Lizzy's phone number to Will. That still hadn't stopped her from carrying her phone around in her pocket everywhere she went. It had been four days.

Lydia emerged from her room, yawning hugely. "God, if I have to read any more Freud, I'm going to prescribe myself crack and go on sabbatical to do case studies on my relatives."

Lizzy laughed, her legs stretched out under the kitchen table, her laptop open in front of her. "You're only a freshman. You're not eligible for sabbatical yet"

"Damn ageists," Lydia muttered, snagging the remote from the coffee table and dropping onto the couch. "Oh, dear television," she said in a sing-song, hitting the power button. "I've missed you so during this terrible, terrible mid-term-ridden time."

Lizzy grinned and turned to her sister. Jane was gazing into the fridge with a slight frown and commenting, "I don't know what we're going to have for dinner."

"Pasta Salad," Lizzy suggested, deleting a typo and retyping the sentence quickly

Jane checked the lower drawers. "We don't have any vegetables."

"We could go get some, you know," Lydia pointed out, turning on the TV. "The paparazzi is on a forced vacation, so that shouldn't stop you."

"What? They're gone?" Jane asked, shutting the fridge and going to look. "But they were so bad this morning. I went to class this morning, and they were asking me all these questions."

"About Lizzy, right?" Lydia said, looking up from the dating show she was watching. "They did that to me, too."

"Me?" Lizzy said startled.

"Yeah," Jane said. "They wanted to know if she was engaged yet." Lizzy snorted, and Jane smiled shrugging. "I figured Collins said something they misunderstood. I just wonder why they all cleared out," Jane said thoughtfully.

"They were making too much racket for me and Freud, so I called campus security," Lydia said, flipping through channels and smirking.

Jane gasped. "You didn't."

"Now why didn't we think of that before?" Lizzy wondered with a wide, proud grin at Lydia.

"Well, you don't have a friend in campus patrol," Lydia commented, pausing at the TV Guide channel to see if any good movies were on. "And Frank—that's my friend—said when campus security approached the photographer, they were so shitty that security called the police." Jane gasped again, hands over her mouth. "Then, one of the reporters tried to pull the freedom-of-the-press clause in a very pissy way so all of them got carted off to jail."

"Oh, my God," Jane said horrified, but Lizzy was laughing.

"I don't think they'll be back for a few days," Lydia said smugly.

"If I do go to the grocery store," said Jane, going to the hallway closet and pulling on a dark green hoodie over her jeans, "what do we want for dinner?"

"Pasta Salad," Lizzy said, looking up with hopeful, pleading eyes.

"Or spaghetti," Lydia said, eyes reading the screen. "It's already 7:05, so something fast."

"Shit, it's seven already?" Lizzy said, snapping her laptop shut. "Turn it to channel 12 quick."

Lydia obliged and immediately rolled her eyes. "Fabulous Life?" Lydia asked. "Celebrity Squabbles, Caught on Tape?"

"He's my friend," Lizzy protested, nodding at the small, balding interviewee in an electric blue suit and yellow sunglasses, "and Marco called me this morning to tell me to watch it. He said something else too, something about being prepared, but the message was all garbled."

"Oh, that's the photographer you had lunch with in New York?" Jane said quietly. "Marco Vignilini?"

Lizzy nodded, half-listening to Marco talk about the Duff-Lohan conflicts. "He doubles as the town gossip," Lizzy said absently.

The screen flashed a brief red-carpet clip of a silk-clad Lindsey Lohan passing Hillary Duff, giving her a dirty look through heavily mascara-ed lashes, and Lizzy heard Marco say, "They are so cute. It is just like a cat-fight among the teenagers, except that instead of ordering the pizzas for the wrong address, they try order the Mercedes for the wrong address."

Jane leaned against the kitchen table, smirking at her sister, and Lydia fought a laugh, watching a cut-out of Duff use a dump truck to bury a cut-out of Lohan in silver Mercedes convertibles.

"He's a really good photographer," Lizzy said apologetically. "Ground-breaking in digital color."

"Uh-huh," said Jane, as Fabulous Life moved onto a clip of Lindsey Lohan in Mean Girls. "He's the one who offered you the apprenticeship at his studio?"

Lizzy nodded. "But you know," she said, seeing Marco fold his hands smugly after telling the world how much money Duff had spent to get back at Lohan, "I really doubt I'll take it after this, though."

"You don't want to see the behind-the-scenes world of Fabulous Life?" Lydia teased, as the deep-voiced announcer (not Marco) declared, "But no one knows how to smile pretty for the camera like celebrities' model-girlfriends."

Rolling her eyes, Lizzy resisted the urge to start a pillow fight, until the announcer continued, "And nobody is more photogenic these days than Dar's girlfriend, Elizabeth Bennet, former supermodel Beth Bennette."

Lizzy's mouth fell open, and Jane dropped the car keys. Lydia turned around, staring at Lizzy over the back of the sofa. "That's not true," Lydia said slowly, "is it?"

Jane was staring at her twin so hand that Lizzy felt her cheeks flush red, but she couldn't answer.

"Oh, Beth," said Marco with a wide smile. "Beth is adorable." The screen changed, flashing a five-year-old picture of Lizzy, something from a faux-combat shoot for an Italian designer whose name she'd forgotten: she was wearing a grey camouflage, silk dress and those lace-up stilettos that had dyed her skin black from toes to thigh. There was a sword in her hand too, just a prop, but she remembered it was so heavy that she couldn't raise it more than a foot from the ground.

"Wow, Lizzy—you were hot," Lydia said matter-of-factly. "You could've been on Xena."

"Beth has always been a maker of trouble," Marco explained, as the camera focused on Lizzy's face, her hair—long then—teased into a giant mass of curls, her mouth in a lop-sided smirk, one eyebrow raised in challenge. "She is known still for taking on the scariest names in the industry. She was sent off a shoot—not one of mine—for arguing with the photographer. She did not like how he was speaking to her fellow models."

"Marco, you asshole, you fucking asshole," Lizzy snapped, grabbing a pillow from the couch and hurling it at the screen.

Lydia squawked, lurching forward to steady the television set. "Lizzy, I know you're upset, but if you break my TV, I swear to God, something will go wrong in your darkroom.

Lizzy was pacing now, scowling and ready to hit something else. "I take it back. I take it all back. We are not friends. And he is so getting his ass kicked when I see him next."

"This week just after attending the Darcy press conference this Tuesday," Marco announced, grinning as the camera turned back to him, "Beth took it upon her adorable self to take on the biggest bch in the music business." The screen changed to show a scowling steel-haired woman in black wool suit. "Mrs. Katherine de Bourgh, manager of the B.F.D. and Fitz and Dar's aunt."

"But it's not true—" Jane said hesitantly, pressing her lips together delicately.

"Of course, it's not true," Lizzy snapped. "Okay, so I did get fired once for mouthing off at McTerrin (not my fault; he was hitting on everybody). And I did go to Will's press conference and have a run-in with the de Bourgh bitch so that's true. But not—" Lizzy stopped, took a deep steadying breath. "Not the other part."

"So basically, the part where you're actually dating Dar," Lydia said.

"Yeah, basically," Lizzy said, as Marco told a story about how Mrs. de Bourgh sent three personal assistant past the point of Nervous Breakdown.

Lydia pouted, turning back to the screen, which now showed Mrs. de Bourgh sporting horns and a cartoon tail to match. "Damn. That was the good part."

"But why didn't you tell me?" Jane accused.

"How could I?" Lizzy snapped. When her sister flinched, Lizzy's scowl softened, and she forced himself to take another deep breath. "Jane, I'm sorry; it's just—"

"And it all came down to a spectacular confrontation on the quad of Vickroot University," Marco announced brightly.

"Oh, God," Lizzy moaned, covering her face with her hands.

"Cool," Lydia said, as the screen changed to home quality footage, one that unmistakably caught Lizzy in her best grey suit, just in front of the freshman dorms, hurriedly shrugging off her jacket and glaring viciously to her right.

"I didn't see anybody," Lizzy murmured, staring helplessly at her image on the screen. "I'd just came back from the city, and Mrs. de Bourgh was waiting for me on that bench. But I could've sworn there wasn't anybody else around."

"Happens to the best of us," Jane said comfortingly, and Lizzy's gaze slid from the TV to Jane's barely-concealed grin in disbelief.

"Only one of your kind would force upon me an indignity of watching you undress in public," said a voice off-screen, and the camera swung around to reveal Mrs. de Bourgh, her nose raised high over her fox shawl.

"It's hot out," onscreen Lizzy snapped irritably, as she ripped her heels off too. "If you want to suffer in that fur wrap, that's your choice, but I don't have to."

"Such insolence, Miss Eliza—" began Mrs. de Bourgh haughtily.

Lizzy shook out her jacket twice and folded it over her arm. "Look, Mrs. de Bourgh, I really doubt you came all this way to insult me, but if you did, I'm going to leave. I have a thesis to edit."

Lydia snorted, glancing away from the screen toward her cousins with a grin, amd on the screen behind her, Mrs. de Bourgh sniffed, drawing herself up to her full height. "I think you know why I am here, Miss Eliza."

Lizzy groaned, listening to her onscreen self protest that she actually didn't know why Mrs. de Bourgh was at Vickroot. "Didn't they edit this at all?" she complained, glaring at the TV.

"You must," said Mrs. de Bourgh stiffly.

"Apparently not," Jane replied, trying not to smile at her sister's expression.

"If I did," onscreen Lizzy pointed out grimly, "I wouldn't waste our time asking."

"I've heard some rumors that disturb me greatly," Mrs. de Bourgh said, with a disapproving scowl.

"What?" Lizzy asked, with a provoking grin. "You just found out Rosings is about fifty years younger than you bought it for?"

Mrs. de Bourgh raised her chin, her scowl deepening. "About relations between you and my nephew."

"Oh, fuck," Lizzy grumbled, and Jane sat down at the table to watch the screen more comfortably, patting her sister's arm absentmindedly.

On-screen Lizzy regarded Mrs. de Bourgh steadily, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. "Well, gosh—me and Fitz are just friends," she said lightly. "He's happily married; even you know that."

"You know very well that I am speaking of William," Mrs. de Bourgh snapped.

"Apparently, I'm a little dense today," Lizzy replied icily. "You're going to have to be more specific."

"Are you or are you not engaged to my nephew, William Darcy?" said Mrs. de Bourgh, nose raised high.

"Whoa," sputtered Lydia, glancing at her cousins over the back of the couch, and Lizzy sighed heavily.

"What?" Lizzy snorted. "Of course not," she added and laughed.

"Good," Jane told her sister. "You might have been in trouble if you hadn't told me that."

Mrs. de Bourgh was breathing a very visible sigh of relief. "Now I demand your word that you will never enter such an engagement."

"Uh-oh," Lydia said.

"I don't think Mrs. de Bourgh knows who she's messing with," Jane agreed with a slight smile at her sister.

"Excuse me?" said Lizzy, eyebrows raised.

"Do you think we could microwave some popcorn?" Lydia asked, settling herself more comfortably on the couch.

"And that you will never have any further relations with my nephews. Both of them," Mrs. de Bourgh added.

"I think we should turn this off now," Lizzy told her cousin, walking to the couch and reaching for the remote.

"Uh-uh," said Lydia grinning, holding it out of Lizzy's reach.

"Absolutely not," Lizzy told Mrs. de Bourgh, her hands on her hips.

"I'm serious. I don't want to see anymore," Lizzy said, leaning over the back of the couch and grabbing at it.

"No way," Lydia said, stuffing it under some cushions and throwing herself in front of it.

"Two against one," Jane told her sister, but Lizzy ignored that, trying to shove her hand around Lydia and under the cushion.

"Don't look at me like that," Lizzy snapped, as Mrs. de Bourgh raised her eyebrows high, her mouth set in a grim line. "I don't owe you anything."

"Do you have any idea what this could to his career?" Mrs. de Bourgh hissed.

"Don't give me that shit," Lizzy snapped back, her cheeks flushing. "Will can handle his own career."

On the couch, Lizzy managed to get one finger on the plastic remote, but Lydia poked her in the armpit and Lizzy involuntarily jumped back.

"Don't be stupid," Mrs. de Bourgh spat, her eyes glittering in the dusky light, her nose crooked and high. "Do you know what life under the cameras is like? Do you know what the press will unearth?"

In a last-ditch effort, Lizzy turned toward the TV set and reached for the power button, but Lydia was faster, grabbing Lizzy's arm and yanking her off balance, laughing as her cousin fell into her lap. "Nice try, Lizzy."

"I've read your file," Mrs. de Bourgh told Lizzy, brows drawn tight and fierce.

"Lydia, I'm serious," Lizzy growled, struggling to get back up, but Lydia's arms were clamped around her waist.

"I have a file?" Lizzy asked impressed.

"Jane, help!" Lydia cried giggling, and Jane piled on top of them playfully, trapping Lizzy in place.

"Your father is a philandering, second-rate photographer. He abandoned your family before your birth," Mrs. de Bourgh declared, and both onscreen and offscreen Lizzy turned to her with sharp, matching scowls. "Your mother has been engaged three times and married only once, in Vegas, a marriage which was annulled barely a month later. You yourself were nearly engaged to Greg Trebent, who has since been arrested twice for possession of illegal substances. Last spring, your sister—once at the top of her class—was nearly expelled from medical school for poor attendance. Before the age of eighteen, your cousin—"

"That's enough," Lizzy interrupted sharply, chin lowered, her voice shaking.

Lydia turned from the screen to Lizzy, her mouth open and helpless,. Lizzy took her hand wordlessly and tried to smile.

"This is what journalists will see when they look into your background," said Mrs. de Bourgh, quieter now but triumphant, her smile slight and smug. "This is what they will report—"

"Bitch," Jane snapped, glaring at the screen, and Lydia turned to her with a trembling grin. Lizzy whooped proudly, and Jane blushed.

"I said that's enough," Lizzy repeated, eyes narrowed again, more fiercely. "If that's all you have to say, I'm going. I don't have to listen to this."

"Is it money you want?" Mrs. de Bourgh asked with a heavy, long-suffering sigh. "Name it. To protect nephew, I'll pay any price."

"Unbelievable," Lydia said.

"Fifty thousand," Mrs. de Bourgh offered, and onscreen Lizzy shook her head slowly, scowling darkly.

"Oh, my God, Lizzy," Jane whispered, pressing a hand to her mouth. "You didn't hit her, did you?"

"One hundred thousand," Mrs. de Bourgh said, and Lydia's mouth dropped open.

"I should have," Lizzy sighed, watching her onscreen self push past Mrs. de Bourgh and stalk down the sidewalk, camera bag bouncing on her hip.

"A quarter million!" Mrs. de Bourgh cried after her, and onscreen Lizzy froze.

She turned slowly, waiting just long enough for the small, smug smile to return to the older woman's face before asking sweetly, "What's got you so desperate, Mrs. de Bourgh? Is your contract about to lapse or something? Scared that the B.F.D. is going to give your job to someone else?" With that, Lizzy turned on her barefoot heel, and stalked down the sidewalk, heels in hand, leaving Mrs. de Bourgh gaping in her tracks.

"Go, Lizzy!" cheered Lydia.

Even Jane grabbed Lizzy around the neck and kissed her stoutly on the cheek. "You're awesome," Jane told Lizzy firmly, as the screen changed to one Mary Ann Phillips, from People, who began an intro for another model.

"Even though I just completely chewed out Collins' boss?" Lizzy asked wearily. "On TV?"

"Oh…" said Jane thoughtfully, as she sprang to her feet, short red hair bouncing. "So, that's why she sounds so familiar."

"Who's Collins?" Lydia asked, looking at Jane.

"You still have my permission to kick as much ass as you need," Jane told Lizzy cheerfully, "even if it's the ass of Collins' boss."

Lizzy smiled. "Thanks, Jane—Shit!" she added, as something in her pocket started moving.

"Collins," Jane explained to Lydia with a wide mischievous smile, "was the first man to propose to Lizzy."

"Jane," Lizzy scolded, drawing out her vibrating phone and flipped it open, half-expecting to hear Charlotte on the other end, calling to tell the Bennet twins that she was suddenly homeless. "Hello?" Lizzy asked wearily.

"Lizzy?" asked a young British (female) voice worriedly.

"Giana?" Lizzy said, sitting up abruptly as Jane explained Collins to Lydia.

"Are you all right?" Giana asked. "You sound like someone just ruined your favorite photograph."

"I'm on TV," Lizzy moaned.

"Oh," Giana said, and Lizzy could practically hear the grin in Giana's voice. "You've been on all week, though. I don't see how you haven't—"

Lizzy gasped. "I've been on TV all week?"

"Uh-oh," Jane said, looking at Lydia, and both of them burst into giggles.

"Even more than I have actually," Giana replied, "and I've had reporters here trying to tail me to the bathroom. I really don't know how you missed it."

"I don't watch much TV," Lizzy grumbled defensively.

"I've heard that happens sometimes," Giana replied. "Will, for example, doesn't—"

"Fuck, he's seen this too, hasn't he?" Lizzy said panicking.

"Well, yes."

"Shit," Lizzy muttered, and Jane laughed.

"On YouTube actually," Giana said. "Maggie was pissed that he was on the internet during the press release, when they were supposed to be announcing her new position. He was very funny, though. He couldn't stop smiling, despite Maggie's glares."

"Who's that?" Jane mouthed.

"Giana," Lizzy mouthed back. To Giana, she repeated, "New position? You mean, I was right? B.F.D. fired your aunt and made Maggie primary manager?"

Jane made a face. "Who's Giana?"

"She did do all the work anyway." Giana paused. "You mean Will didn't tell you?"

"No, I was definitely bluffing," Lizzy said. She covered the mouthpiece briefly to tell Jane, "She's Will's sister."

"Damn," Giana said with a heavy sigh. "That means Fitz was right, and I owe him $30."

"You know his sister?" Jane asked startled, and when Lizzy nodded, Lydia gave Lizzy an impressed thumbs-up.

"Is that why you called, Giana?" Lizzy grumbled. "To see who won a bet?"

"No, I'm doing damage control," Giana said, and Lizzy heard her taking in a deep breath. "Look, Lizzy—I rather like you."

"Well, thanks," Lizzy said, touched. "I like you a lot, too."

"And I'd like you to stick around," Giana continued. "I know Will's an idiot and probably slightly mad, but he does really care about you—"

"Wait, I'm confused," Lizzy said quickly.

"Understatement," Lydia muttered, and Lizzy threw a pillow at her.

"Has Will done something recently to deserve this speech?" Lizzy asked suspiciously, wondering if there was another press conference she missed.

"You mean, they aren't there yet?" Giana asked surprised. "They left nearly two hours ago."

"I'm still going to the grocery store," Jane told Lizzy and Lydia.

"What do you mean?" Lizzy asked Giana slowly. "Who left two hours ago?"

"Hey, can you get me more Life cereal?" Lydia asked with a wide, pleading smile.

"Fine, but Lizzy has to answer all my questions when I get back," Jane said, grinning at her twin.

"I don't see how that works, Jane," Lizzy said with a mock-glare, but with a growing grin, she added, "But it all depends on what you get me at the grocery store. Ben and Jerry's sounds good."

As Lydia cheered, Giana asked, "Is that your sister?"

"Yeah," Lizzy said, smirking at Jane. "She's all smug now, because she's not the only one in the household with cameramen following her."

"No!" cried Giana. "Don't let her leave! Quick!"

"What?" Lizzy asked confused. "Why—"

There was a sharp knock at the door, and Jane turned around, chirping "I'll get it."

"Giana," Lizzy said quietly, feeling her heart stutter in her chest, "I have to go. Someone's at the door."

"Be nice!" Giana pleaded. "They're rather nervous. Especially Charlie."

There was another knock, more persistent this time, and Lizzy repeated, mouth gaping, "Charlie?"

"Coming!" Jane called, unlatching the lock--"Good luck!" Giana said and hung up before Lizzy could ask any more questions.—and Jane opened the door, smiling.